I'm Always There John, Always
by pearlsandpeonies
Summary: All Claire could think about as she hauled John up the steps was the blood seeping through the arm of his white thermal shirt. She really hoped that it looked worse than it actually was, but she knew better.
1. Chapter 1

It was a cool October night, and Claire Standish was sitting at her vanity, putting the

finishing touches on her makeup. She was waiting for her boyfriend Harris to pick her up for

their date.

She was sitting, aimlessly applying lip gloss, when she heard a small thud outside of her

open window. She ignored it, thinking it was a squirrel jumping out of a tree or something like

that. She went about her business, looking in her closet for a sweater to go over her dress, when

she heard a strangled sounding scream.

"Claire!" a weak but familiar voice called. She stiffened, then walked over to the window

cautiously. She peered out, but she didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Retreating back to her

closet, she heard the scream again.

"Claire! Please, Claire, help!" she walked back to the window and looked down. Lying there, underneath her window was a bleeding, whimpering boy. But of course, it wasn't just any boy. It was her ex-boyfriend, John Bender.

xxxxx

Claire. He missed her so much. He was worried that she wouldn't help him. He was worried that she would have already left for her date, like she had done every Friday night for the past month.

He watched her walk away from the window, and silently prayed that she was coming to help him. After a few moments, he heard the back door quietly close, and he thanked whoever was up there for answering his prayers.

xxxxx

"John?" Claire asked as she approached the boy. "What happened?" She reached him and tried to see what exactly was injured, but she couldn't see much in the darkness.

"Claire, can you please help me?" a frantic sounding John said.

"Of course, come on, can you stand?" she asked.

"I don't think so…" he trailed off. Claire could tell that he was having trouble staying

conscious.

"Okay, John, I'm going to try to lift you, but you're going to have to help me."

"Mmmm, ok," John said, his eyes closing.

"John, please, don't, come on, please!" Claire said, as she lifted him so he was sitting up.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him up. After a few tries, he was standing.

"John, we're gonna walk over to the door, and I'm going to help you, ok?"

"Whatever you say Claire," he slurred. He tried to take a step forward, but instead, he wildly swung out of her grip and onto the ground.

"John!" Claire knelt to the ground and propped him back up. "Ok, this time, don't try to walk." He nodded, and they set off on their trek back to the house.

xxxxx

John's eyes were opening and closing, as he drifted in and out of consciousness. All he could think about was the fact that Claire had helped him. She helped him! Maybe she didn't hate him as much as he thought! He smiled and hummed to himself, as Claire helped him up the steps.

xxxxx

All Claire could think about as she hauled John up the steps was the blood seeping through the arm of his white thermal shirt. She really hoped that it looked worse than it actually was, but she knew better.

Once she reached her room, she sat him down on the overstuffed armchair in the corner of her room and began to assess his injuries.

His arm was still bleeding through his shirt, and both of his eyes were rimmed with bruises. His neck had scratches all over it, and his hair was covered in some sticky substance that Claire really hoped wasn't blood. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing heavily, as if he had been crying. He was clutching the arm that wasn't bleeding, and she rolled up the sleeve, bracing herself for something terrible.

And terrible it was. It was another cigar burn, right next to the first one that he had shown everyone that first day in detention. She stepped back and took a good look at him. He looked so miserable, so sad, even worse than he had all of the other times his father had beaten him and he had come running to her.

The only time he had looked so defeated when she broke up with him. She didn't know that she had meant so much to him, and she longed to tell him that it had hurt her just the same. She wanted to let him know that it wasn't his fault.

xxxxx

John began to stir. He opened his eyes and groggily looked around the room. He recognized it as Claire's. But she was nowhere to be found. Had she gone on her date? He had been watching her, climbing a tree in the park that was across the street from her house. He watched her leave the house at promptly 8:00 every Friday night, with that ass Harris. He glanced over at the clock sitting on the nightstand. It was 8:13.

He concluded that she had gone on her date, when she walked into the room, shutting the door behind her. She had towels and ice packs in her hands. As she made her way over to him, he tried to stand.

"John! What are you doing! Sit down, right now!" she yelled at him.

"Look, cherry, don't you have somewhere to be? I shouldn't have come here…" he trailed off.

"John, it's fine, really, sit down." she said, walking over to him. "I need to help you, you really should go to the hospital."

"No hospital." he said, putting his hands on her shoulders, wincing in pain as he did so. She shrugged his hands off and helped him sit back down in the armchair.

"Arms up!" she said, and he gingerly lifted his arms. She pulled the blood soaked thermal off of his torso, and looked over his chest. There were bruises forming over his ribs and scratches covering his chest. She pressed a cool washcloth to his ribs, and his face contorted in pain.

"Owwww," he whined. Claire ignored him, and then turned her attention to his arm. The bleeding had slowed, but hadn't stopped. She tied an old scarf around it, hoping to stop the bleeding.

She stood up and brushed through his hair with her fingers. She found a small cut which she dried and bandaged. It looked like the cut had bled a lot, which was probably why he was drifting in and out of consciousness. Next, she tended to the cigar burn, pressing an icepack to it. She washed the blood from the scratches on his neck and cleaned the rest of his face off, taking extra care around the purple bruises around his eyes.

"Claire," he began. He wanted her to know how much he appreciated her helping him. "You really didn't have to help me."

"John, don't be silly, even though we're not together anymore doesn't mean that I don't care about you."

She moved a hand to his cheek and tenderly rubbed around his bruises. In a softer voice than before, she began to speak.

"Letting you go was the hardest thing I have ever done, but when I did, I told myself that if you ever were in trouble, I would help you no matter what. You can always come to me, John, and I really hope you know that. For anything, I mean it."

He didn't respond, instead, he placed his hand over hers. She studied his face. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words. After a moment, he spoke.

"You lied." A wave of hurt washed over his face. "You lied Claire!" he buried his face in his hands and leaned over with his head in his lap.

Claire was taken aback. She knelt down and put her hands in his hair, gently rubbing his head. This was the first time he had ever cried in front of her, and she wasn't sure what to do. She could hear his sobs, so she just kept trying to comfort him.

"John, could you please look at me?" she asked. She knew that she wasn't guaranteed an answer; it was the same even when they were a couple. He lifted his head to reveal red rimmed eyes, and tear stained cheeks.

"How did I lie?" she asked. Just seeing him so hurt made her eyes fill with tears even though, from the very second she saw him lying outside, she had promised herself to be strong in front of him.

xxxxx

The second John saw her eyes fill with tears, he knew that she still loved him, and he knew for a fact that he still loved her. He had never cried in front of her, he never cried in front of anyone. Even when his dad was beating the shit out of him, he always kept a brave face, saving his tears for the pillow.

But, this time was different. He was just so happy that she hadn't turned him away, that she had helped him.

He opened his arms and she fell into them, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. And at that moment, he began crying again. He was so happy! So happy! Love was a difficult emotion for him, he didn't know how to deal with it. So there they sat, crying into each other's arms, both just so happy to be with the other one again.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Ok, so this was originally planned to be a two-shot, but I'm thinking that there will be three chapters. This one is pretty short, but I feel as if it stands better alone than it does when paired with the third chapter. I've had this written for a while, so I'm editing it as I go and I'm trying to make sure that each part feels complete. Although this is short, I feel that it stands alone well, and is a "complete" chapter.**

** As a side note, I apologize for the formatting errors in the first chapter of this story. My computer has been acting up and I hope that all of those problems have been fixed in this chapter. **

** For those of you who have been reading, I thank you, and I encourage you to review if you love it, or even if you hate it. In my opinion, any feedback is good feedback, and I'm open to any and all kinds. I'm not writing to please anybody, so I'll keep writing if one person reviews or if one hundred people review. **

** So, without further interruption, here is part two! **

"John? Are you ready to talk?" Claire asked. She was hesitant as to what he would say. She had never seen him cry before, and she certainly never had thought that she would ever see him cry. He always seemed so strong. Claire could easily recall times when he had shown up to her house, beaten and upset. She would put him back together, but she would cry, of course she would cry. It was so hard for her to see someone that she cared about so much in so much pain. He would kiss her tears away and hold her, telling her everything would be ok, that everything was fine, even when they both knew that when John would go back home, the whole cycle would start over again. Claire knew that she wasn't the one getting beat, she was fine, her home life had been improving, and her parents were trying to rebuild their marriage.

Claire waited for an answer. But the only response he gave was to hold her tighter, burying his head further into the crook of her neck. And Claire just kept holding him, because she had missed holding him, she had missed him so much. And finally, Claire didn't know how much time had passed, but he lifted his head, stray tears still running down his face. Claire responded the only way she knew how, the way he had taught her in those moments when he had been strong and she had been weak. She kissed every last tear away, holding him tighter after each sniffle.

xxxxx

John knew that Claire wanted to know what had happened. He was sure that she could gather that his father had hit him, but he knew that she wanted to find out why he was so adamant on the fact that she had lied to him.

John knew that she was helping him the same way he had helped her when she cried. He didn't cry in front of anybody, but to be with Claire wasn't to be with just anybody. Claire was his soul mate. At this point, to him it was a fact. _The sky is blue. Claire is my soul mate. Grass is green. Claire is my soul mate. _

But at this moment, John wasn't ready to tell Claire why he was crying. He just wanted to be nestled in her arms. He wanted her to run her hands through his hair, and whisper to him that she loved him.

But wasn't that the problem? John thought to himself. She didn't love him anymore. What was he thinking? Just because she had helped him, didn't mean that she loved him. Just because she had started crying, didn't mean that she loved him. Claire was an emotional kind of girl. She would watch the news and tear up when they would talk about the deaths of people she had never even met, never even heard of.

Slowly, he started to pull himself away from her. Until, finally, they were two separate people, both sitting there, with tear stained faces and a longing for what they each could not have- each other.


End file.
